


Sunrise Pancakes

by futureboy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Bisexuality, M/M, Meet-Cute, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Jeremy's got a favourite diner. He's also got a favourite patron.





	Sunrise Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

Sunrise Pancakes is where Jeremy spends every Thursday afternoon.

Most of the time, patrons come in for their world-class breakfasts - pancakes at sunrise is, after all, a god-like event, where only the fluffiest batter and the crispiest bacon rashers are served. Maple syrup has soaked into the wooden surfaces over the years, but without leaving sticky residue; afternoon americano and evening espresso shots take over the tables past noon or so.

Jeremy always wanders in around three o’clock, when the sun is streaming through the slightly-steamed up windows, and casting everything into a forest-like glow. He orders a Toasted BLT with extra bacon, salad on the side, and sits down to work on the plans for a future assignment.

Eating in the same place, at the same time, is this _guy_.

Jeremy pretends not to stare at him whilst he stabs at sprigs of rocket, even though he _totally_ is staring. How could he not, when the man doesn’t have a corner on him anywhere at all, when he’s all curled in on himself despite being a good six foot tall at least, when he’s the living version of one of those impossible Greek statues, the ones where the chiseled marble looks like sculpted clay. Dude’s got soft looking scruff for days, too.

 _And reading glasses should definitely not look that attractive_.

It’s been months and months of this, now; The Guy is already here when Jeremy arrives, hunched over a laptop, and a notebook with sticky note tabs poking out of every page. There’ll be a fork standing upright in a slice of peach cobbler or key lime or pecan pie, unless he’s already demolished it by the time three o’clock rolls around.

And it only got worse as summer rolled around. The Guy had traded in form-fitting jeans and snug hoodies for tight t-shirts and _backwards baseball caps_. He looks like some kind of mature frat boy. Jeremy can’t even bring himself to be ashamed of his taste. The Guy is fucking hot.

“You gonna talk to him today?” Lindsay-Behind-The-Counter asks, every damn week in hushed tones.

“Linds, I love you,” says Jeremy, every time, “but holy _shit,_ I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He looks busy,” is the firm reply. “And I _am_ busy.”

So he hides behind his BLT, in the mostly-empty breakfast diner, and continues to stare from time to time.

It officially gets worse when he sees the man on a date.

Jeremy can pin it down as a turning point in his terribly distracted heart even before anything happens - he’s working on the design for a billboard promotion when The Guy walks in with someone else in tow. Someone pretty, and tall, and probably not a dude.

No, she’s almost _definitely_ not a dude, and to make matters worse, she’s _totally into The Guy_.

“So, I’m thinking,” she says, in a shrill accent that’s _definitely_ New York, but probably not Brooklyn. “You take out that throwaway line in the second chapter, then we can market the first book as a generic action.”

The Guy mumbles something.

“I _know_ it’s not generic, baby, but people won’t realise that unless they read it.”

Jeremy’s about to listen out for the response when he spots Lindsay coming out from behind the counter, balancing three plates like a fuckin’ champ and giving off suspicious airs. Jeremy quickly figures this out due to two observations: the first was that her face is a perfectly blank mask of innocence

The second was because she’s just handed the New York Woman the plate with Jeremy’s Toasted BLT on.

“What are you doing?!” he hisses, trying not to get anyone’s attention but Lindsay’s. She hands him a Four Cheese and shrugs.

“Someone had to do something,” she says casually. She leaves with only a blinding smile to comfort him.

Okay, Dooley. Time to fortify and get over there.

He huffs.

 _Fuck_.

“Excuse me?” he asks, plate outstretched. Lindsay is Satan, for sure. “I think our orders got mixed up.”

“Oh, I think you’re right!” says the woman, scrutinising her sandwich, “thanks so much!”

They swap plates. The Guy had been looking pretty dejected, but now he looks intrigued: “I’ve seen you in here before, right?” he says, wide-eyed and a little shy.

Jeremy’s heart lurches in his chest. “Uh… Yeah. A coupla times. Maybe. I’m Jeremy.”

“Ryan,” says The Guy, and there’s an accent somewhere in there to go with the name. Jeremy can’t place it.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he replies.

He holds out his hand. Ryan takes it. Jeremy’s a million percent sure that his hands are nasty and gross and _sweaty_ with sheer gay nonsense feelings.

The lady across from him suddenly leans forwards in interest. “Can I ask you a question?” she asks, her eyes narrowed, and jabs the end of a biro in Jeremy’s general direction.

Jeremy picks up his BLT dish and presses it into his diaphragm, like the hard cold line could act as a ceramic comfort blanket. “Uh, sure?”

“If you were buying the latest action-packed thriller novel,” she says, slowly, “would the main character being a gay man put you off?”

“He’s bi,” mumbles Ryan.

“So am I,” blurts out Jeremy, momentarily forgetting that he’s being addressed by someone else.

Ryan looks up in surprise. “So you wouldn’t mind?”

“ _Mind_? Dude,” Jeremy grins, “that sounds like an awesome idea, I’d totally read that.”

Ryan’s dining partner clears her throat abruptly, and Jeremy jumps. He’d totally phased her out of the conversation. Oops. “Well, in that case,” she says, “I can talk to the agent and see what we can do?”

“No need,” Ryan says gently. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

There’s something final in that sentence - the lady purses her lips and stares down at her food, and Jeremy creeps away, not wanting to play any part in the awkwardness of Ryan’s lunch whatsoever.

The Guy has a name.

 _Ryan_.

He whispers it against his palm as he focuses on his latest assignment, sandwich long gone and salad demolished. It doesn’t sound the same as when Ryan had said it himself, but that’s because Jeremy’s from Massachusetts and Ryan is decidedly _not_.

The next time Jeremy comes in, he feels amazingly nervous. It burns inside him, fresh and clean, like antiseptic gel, and he’s weirdly excited to possibly see Ryan again, as well as scared out of his mind.

So imagine his surprise when Ryan approaches his little table by the window.

“Hey,” says Ryan quickly, “is this seat taken?”

“Never,” says Jeremy, and immediately cringes. What a dumb thing to say.

But Ryan sits anyway, unperturbed, and cracks open his notebook with the sticky marker tabs inside. It’s filled with black, scratchy writing.

“I’m really sorry about the other day,” Ryan says, not meeting his eye. “I was trying out a new company and that was my first meeting with a prospective editor. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” he breathes. “Did it-- did it work out?”

“Nah, I told them I, uh… ‘didn’t require their services’,” Ryan grins. “I don’t want to change my whole book to fit a specific market, I’d rather have someone find me a market that fits _me_. Y’know?”

Jeremy starts in surprise. “You’re a writer then? Like… For real? As a job?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“That is _so_ cool,” he grins, feeling a little like he’s coming on too strong. “I’d love a job like that.”

“What do you do?”

“I design adverts, mostly,” he lists, “I’m working on a billboard promotion for the, uh-- you know that huge cinema on the other side of the city?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s nice to have someone hanging onto his every word, but man, it’s _distracting_ when that someone is as attractive as Ryan. “I’m doing the sign for their subscription service right now. With all the featured movies they want, the licensing’s been a nightmare. That lady must’ve been _super_ annoying for you, I can’t imagine anyone trying to change my artistic direction like that…”

“I don’t know,” says Ryan, finally daring to look him in the eye, “I definitely got something out of the appointment.”

Jeremy’s stomach commits to what feels like a full three-sixty degree spin.

Ryan breaks the eye contact, tucking his hair behind his ears nervously. “Can I borrow a pen?” he asks.

And Jeremy, in his infinite wisdom and penchant for forethought, blurts out: “only if you write down your number.”

There’s a solid silence between them for a good five seconds. Oh, god. _Why did he say that?_   Jeremy hopes his frequent BLTs might have built up enough cholesterol to spontaneously give him a heart attack, but they really haven’t, at _all_.

Ryan extends his hand. He’s staring at a spot on the table that looks like spilled coffee. He’s _bright_ red.

“Um,” he starts, intelligently, “I can put it straight into your contacts, if you like. Save paper, and all that.”

Jeremy breaks into the most relieved grin his face has ever cracked.

“That’s a great idea,” he says, handing over his cell phone, “I’d love to-- I mean, we could-- Uh, this place is _great_ , but we could go somewhere else for a bite to eat, if you wanted. Sometime. I’d love to hear about your book some more.”

Ryan taps in his number, and hands back Jeremy’s cell. It might just be his imagination, but Ryan might’ve just brushed their fingers together, like, on purpose.

“I’d like that,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” Jeremy says, because it would be inappropriate to break into cheering in the middle of a diner. He can barely hold back his smile. He’s thinking he might try to find a restaurant that has _really_ good dessert.

“Tell me more about what you do,” says Ryan.

It’s not that exciting. At least, not to Jeremy. But Ryan’s engrossed in the conversation, and he has a really, really good feeling about making that call later.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing blog can be found [here](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Kudoses, comments, and subscriptions are appreciated! ♥


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